


Not So Death-Defying

by chronicAngel



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: DickBabs Week 2017, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Nightmares, POV Third Person, The Flying Graysons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 21:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13326777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: He must have dreamed it a thousand times, he's sure.DickBabs Week 2017 Day 2: Vulnerability





	Not So Death-Defying

**Author's Note:**

> Now seemed as good a time as any to re-write this oldie.

_"But I'm scared, Dad." He looks up at his father with wide eyes, clinging to his mother's hand._  


_There's a foreboding feeling in the air, and he's sure it's going to strangle him. Had he been a few years older, his hands might have been sweating, but as it was, he was simply pale and so, so shockingly cold. The July air should have him relieved to be in only a leotard even if Gotham isn't particularly hot in its summers, but he finds himself shivering and clutching at his arms as though trying to huddle for warmth. "Come now, Dick, you've never been scared before," his father says, offering him a reassuring grin. "You've been doing this since you were born. You'll be fine."  
_

_He wants to say that it's not him he's worried about. He wants to look at his parents with wide eyes and tell them just how terrified he is, or tell them what he saw, but his father's assurances that everything will be okay are enough to have him nodding and agreeing to do the show. It wouldn't have been the first time he was made to sit out, or allowed to, as the case may be. As it stands, though, he does not try to make them cancel the show and does not argue any further, following his parents to the open area that Mr. Carberry has just vacated and receiving a pat on the head from the weightlifter as they pass each other. As they climb the ladder to the platform of the trapeze, he hears the typical announcement of, "And now, performing death-defying stunts without the aid of a net, the fabulous Flying Graysons!"  
_

_The audience explodes into applause, and he's thrown into an atypical nostalgia for an almost-ten-year-old. Grinning between his mother and the people watching them, he forgets what lingering anxiety he did have in favor of sending his father off on the trapeze, watching as he flips through the air at the transition. Dick finds himself clapping along with the people watching, staring at his father with wide eyes as he moves through the air like he's on wings.  
_

_"You ready, Dick?" His mother looks at him with a smile, resting her hand comfortingly on the small of his back, and he nods. His father swings back, using his legs to hold himself up on the bar of the trapeze.  
_

_Dick grabs his hands and lets his body go loose, relishing in the way all of his muscles tighten to hold himself up once they start to swing. Taking a risk, he lets go of one of his father's hands, clinging tightly with the other as he waves at the audience. Everyone screams.  
_

_His mother plants a kiss on his cheek when he lands back on the platform, and ruffles his hair with one hand while she moves to catch his father's with the other. Then they're soaring again, flipping in the air. Nothing goes wrong until the backswing, only a few feet away from the platform, and for years Dick will think that if he'd leaned forward, he might have been able to catch his mother's arm. Everyone screams.  
_

He jolts awake, and the cry caught in his throat is between a "No!" and a "Mom!" just like that night all over again.  


He must have dreamed it a thousand times, he's sure.  


He has to force himself to loosen his grip on the sheets, stretching his fingers in the attempt to banish the ache there, because that's an ache that he can get rid of. After a minute, his heart lurches into his throat and he frantically feels around the bed which he knows is not his own. The sheets are too soft, like they've been washed recently as opposed to the crust and dust of his sheets, which he often abandons completely just to pass out on his couch and thus hasn't washed in at least three weeks.  


"B-Babs?" He doesn't catch himself on the stutter, and doesn't bother to pretend it wasn't there, peering around the dark room.  


In the end, it's her absence that motivates him to get out of bed. The floor under his feet is cold and solid, hardwood providing better traction than carpet for Barbara's wheelchair and coincidentally a better anchor for him. He's wearing only a pair of sweatpants, and like that night all over again he's shivering despite the distinctly warm air of Barbara's home, especially in the middle of May; it's much warmer here than it is in Blüdhaven, which had a distinct biting chill when he left it, rain pounding against the hood of his car as he made the drive to Gotham.  


He finds her in the kitchen, wearing her headset and mumbling something that he can't quite catch. The sky outside is still dark enough that he's sure his adopted family is patrolling the streets right now, and he wouldn't doubt that she is talking to one of them right now, be it Bruce asking for information for some case or one of the kids going on a rant and pretending that they aren't just trying to fight the quiet, as Stephanie has a tendency to do. Without asking for more than he can see, he leans close and presses his forehead into one of her shoulders, startling her for a moment. Vaguely, he hears, "Tim, can you wait a second?" And then she turns to look at him. He catches the clear bags under her eyes but doesn't bother to comment.  


Wrapping his arms around her, he nearly lifts her out of the chair. He can feel tears in his eyes, but if she notices, which he's sure she does, she doesn't say anything about it, simply returning his hug and running her fingers gently through his hair. "It was your parents again, wasn't it?" He nods into her neck, sniffing, and realizes that he's crying now. She shushes him gently, soothing him until he's relaxed enough to cry, as messed up as that always sounds to him. Letting out a soft sob, he drops to his knees in front of her and buries himself in her, coughing and weeping into her shirt. They're both silent for almost ten minutes before he finally pulls away, staring at her with wide, wet blue eyes as though he's searching her for an answer. After a minute, she offers, "Do you want some coffee?" He nods quietly, sniffing.  



End file.
